


Things Not To Do In A Den Of Lions

by gacrux



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Gen, and so i wrote a fic about it, i sure do, remember that time tyki showed up when sheryl was torturing lavi and bookman?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:53:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4434491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gacrux/pseuds/gacrux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>alternatively titled, Lavi Makes His Bed And Almost Dies In It.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Not To Do In A Den Of Lions

The parasites keep Lavi awake at all times.

 

For that reason Sheryl's torture is like a breath of fresh air sometimes, because he can never seem to think straight when Fiidora makes it hurt just enough to keep his teeth on edge. Just enough to make his mind tense up, go sharp and glassy, the threat of real damage always hung over him like a lead blanket. It feels like he'll shatter at any given second, like his whole mind will go to pieces after just one more flippant _'squeeze him'_ from Sheryl. He feels like he'll break or implode or just crumble under the pressure because there's nothing to fight here, there's nothing to win, just an infinity of losses that has him on the verge of frustrated tears when he can actually think straight.

 

Lately, though, he's been kind of losing it. Everything. He's losing touch with himself, forgetting which identity he's in, what his name is now, who his friends are these days. Once he even forgets who the Bookman is, and he vaguely remembers seeing the horror that little episode inspired on his teacher's face. He's tried harder since then to remember his job, at least, but it's so hard. And there's no pay off for it, no reward. Just an endless chant in his head of _remember remember remember_ and _don't you fucking lose it, you idiot,_ that comes off sounding vaguely like Kanda.

 

But he's losing it anyway.

 

When Sheryl isn't there – and that's not fucking often – Bookman sometimes turns to him and watches. It's not the cataloguing stare that he uses to record things, to remember history as it is and must be remembered; but rather something more calculating, and conflicted. It's a look Lavi doesn't like, doesn't even want to remember seeing if he's honest with himself, because he gets the feeling his teacher is trying to weigh Lavi's life against the cardinal sin of allowing a Noah to search their logs. That's what they want, after all. Information on the Fourteenth, on Allen Walker, on one of Lavi's closest friends.

 

But why the hell does he care, anyway. He's not 'Lavi', not really. Not when he's been dozens of different people over the span of a decade, and none but 'Lavi' give a damn about the Order, or Lenalee or Kanda or Allen. He can't care just because he's Lavi the exorcist; he has to care because he's the Bookman's apprentice, and if the Noah get their hands on the Bookman's logs it'll give them a tactical advantage that they neither deserve (says Lavi) nor have the objectivity to use without fucking up history (says the Bookman's apprentice).

 

There's only one way this is going to end if Sheryl doesn't stop hunting for information about the Fourteenth and Allen Walker. He knows it, the Bookman knows it, Sheryl himself probably knows it. If everybody takes a step back and looks at the bigger picture, forgets little details like the Bookman requiring a trained apprentice before his death or Lavi's attachment to his life _as_ Lavi, then it's pretty easy to see the only possible outcome here.

 

It's the one where Sheryl pushes too hard and Lavi goes out like a light bulb; nothing wrong on the outside, but all his insides scrambled up and fried. He's not going to be walking away from this unscathed. More likely, he's not going to be walking away from this at all.

 

And then, unexpectedly, Tyki is there. He provides a slightly friendlier face than Lavi's current company has ever been, and it's so hysterical that he's thinking of _Tyki_ as friendly that he has to cough out a laugh.

 

“You look like death, eyepatch.” Tyki notes, but the words barely register because Fiidora and Sheryl have been torturing him for the past few days _straight_. He's not sure he's even conscious anymore, but for that sliver of recognition that Tyki's voice brings him. He says some other things, about Road and the Fourteenth and Allen, and then Sheryl hits Lavi so hard he goes flying back across the room. That's it for him; he's knocked right out by the impact and the sudden, overwhelming pain.

 

When he wakes up, Tyki is still there but Sheryl and Fiidora are gone. Where, he's not sure. Doesn't care, either. The Bookman is silent, eyes closed with what Lavi hopes to every god he doesn't believe in isn't resignation. He's never seen the old man look so pensive and exhausted. It would be terrifying if he were in an improved state of mind, but he's not so it's hard to remember why the Bookman and Resigned is a horrible combination for him.

 

He sits up best he can; nobody deigned to move him from the floor where he fell. Every muscle is twitching and sore and he's sure the parasites are still squirming in him, eating at his nerves and seeping into every bone in his body – but for the time being they're less of a blinding pain, more a quiet menace.

 

“How the hell am I gonna get these things out of me,” He slurs, looking down at his shaking hands and feeling like he can see straight to the web of veins beneath.

 

“You're not, probably.” Tyki comments, fresh as can be.

 

Lavi doesn't reply, but he does try to stand. That doesn't go very well, and Tyki's running commentary on how he's doing isn't great. He knows he looks like a bright-headed broom stick, all knobbly and emaciated and green around the gills, but he _has_ just been tortured for a yet-unknown length of time. This is the first real break he's had in god knows how long, and he's not going to waste it talking to Tyki fucking Mikk.

 

He ends up crawling a few feet, vomiting Fiidora's hair-prickling eyeball bugs, and vomiting again because of what he's just seen himself expel from his body. Then his body goes limp with shock and it's a real struggle to keep himself even semi upright.

 

“That's fucking gross, eyepatch.” Tyki says, snickering.

 

“Yeah.” Lavi agrees, breathless and disgusted. “Fuck you.” He adds, for good measure. Tyki's slaps his knee like he's just told a particularly hysterical joke.

 

The Bookman has been utterly still since Lavi woke up, but now he turns to eye his apprentice with a measure of practiced composure. His eyes are a little darker than usual, and it's the first time Lavi looks and _sees_ instead of just blankly passing over everything. His teacher looks... worn, to say the least. Worn down, worn out, worn to nothing. But he's still here, still alive, back still straight as a rod and shoulders still pushed back in a valiant effort to maintain his dignity. That's the Bookman though; tough as nails when all the layers are peeled back. Lavi used to want to be like him, in a quiet, half-annoyed half-awed kind of way. He's reminded of why in times like these, when the Bookman's composure is enough to deliver Lavi some of his own.

 

“Why are you even here?” He asks Tyki, spitting onto the cement in an attempt to clear his mouth of the awful vomit-bugs he just up-chucked. His nose is stuffed, head sore, body wracked with _layers_ of injuries, but he can think. That's better than usual. Better than nothing.

 

Tyki eyes him with some amusement, then shrugs.

 

“I'm on break.” He says, flippant.

 

“'Break'.” Lavi echoes, disgruntled. “Well, why aren't you taking it with your spiky-haired bitch of a girlfriend instead of bothering me, huh?” He grouses, not thinking about what he's saying, looking around for the first time in what feels like a hundred years. His arms feel leaden, feet swollen. He might have bruises on every inch of skin on his body, actually. It's really uncomfortable, and he kind of wonders if he's really alive. One more push and he might just kick free of this mortal coil.

 

Tyki, of course, has no such concerns with his health. He steps on Lavi's shoulder and drops him back against the hard floor; his head spins on contact, things go fuzzy around the edges before Tyki's face snaps into focus.

 

“Now, I understand you're a little out of sorts.” Tyki admits with a pettish sort of reluctance. He looks down at him, tapping a bare foot against his neck. There's an uneasy silence where Lavi imagines Tyki wondering if he could break a boy's neck with his unshod foot, but then it passes. Instead, he lights a cigarette.

 

“But Bookman Junior, eyepatch, dumbfuck with the red hair, whatever – listen for a sec.” Tyki kneels right on his chest, all his weight over Lavi's lungs. Lavi wheezes; Tyki sucks in a lungful of smoke. “Listen, listen. If you _ever_ talk about Road like that again in my presence, I will unmake you. Understand?” He asks, a peculiar little smile itching at the corners of his lips.

 

Lavi coughs, vision going faintly tunneled. A look of displeasure crosses Tyki's face as he leans down, smelling like some exotic smoke and then nothing at all. He grabs hold of Lavi's hair and gives him a hard shake. It starts feeling like he's going to vomit parasites again, but he doesn't by sheer force of will. Somehow, he thinks that would only get him in more shit. That's the last thing he needs, really.

 

“You awake there, apprentice?” Tyki laughs, digs his nails into his neck and then stands. Lavi can't take a breath deep enough to steady himself. “Anyway,” the Noah flicks some ash onto the ground beside Lavi's shaking fingers. “What have we learned today?”

 

It takes a moment to register that question is addressed to him. Lavi clears his throat a little, tries not to wonder how much pressure it would take for Tyki to crush his trachea under his heel.

 

“Don't talk shit about Road?” He suggests. It seems to be the right answer – Tyki hums and slides his foot off Lavi's collarbone, down and to the right, so he's still standing over him. Looming, really. He does that well. Lavi feels oddly pinned to the ground, more so even than when Tyki was as good as sitting on him.

 

He remains silent; Tyki finishes the rest of his cigarette, eyeing him the entire time. There's something a little too vicious for Lavi's liking taking up residence in the Noah's eyes but, as with before, the moment passes and Tyki retreats. Lavi doesn't sit up this time, doesn't even try. Might as well lay on the floor – it's a lot more comfortable than it was three minutes ago anyway.


End file.
